


the one with the templars

by captainskellington



Series: the ones with the canon divergence [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 17:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5834284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainskellington/pseuds/captainskellington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Those templar nuts still after you and Blondie?” Varric reached over Bianca to pour himself a drink.<br/>“He asks, as if they ever weren't,” Anders muttered. </p><p>Basically, a small band of renegade templars pick the wrong night to try and take on Kirkwall's most wanted mages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the one with the templars

**Author's Note:**

> Rated teen purely because I don't want anyone under the age of 13 reading anything I post on this site. Not for moral reasons, I just find it... weird...  
> (EDIT 11/3/16: Occurs much later than _the one with the first encounter_ , so apologies for the massive hole in the story. Should get filled in at some point.)

Cyril Keryn was the third, least important, and least favourite son of one of the most insignificant minor lords in all of Kirkwall. He was also the most arrogant, self-obsessed templar this particular segment of the order had seen for the last decade or three. His sole aim in life was to become wealthy, powerful and feared and today the opportunity to claw his way up through the ranks had finally landed right in his lap.

He sneered at the note before crushing it in the weight of an armoured hand. “We’ve got them,” he bared his teeth in some vague semblance of a grin at his companion. Like any midden heap, Keryn had attracted his fair share of flies and scavengers every bit as unpleasant and motivated as he himself, bar only the debatable leadership skills that placed him above them.

Knight-Commander Meredith and the others in leadership had made their position very clear regarding apostate mages. The biggest thorns in their collective sides that they hadn’t yet managed to dig out were an elusive Ferelden refugee with old ties to nobility in the city and his lover, an escapee from not only the Circle but also the Grey Wardens.

And the scrap of paper Keryn was absentmindedly strangling every last bit of papery life out of had told him exactly where they were holed up.

Keryn sent out covert messages to his men detailing when and where to assemble, chuckling to himself as he went. Living together? It was almost like they _wanted_ to get caught.

***

“I _am_ so sorry,” Merrill trilled, in such a cheerful manner one would consider the apology to be insincere if it was anyone but Merrill. “I didn't _mean_ to.”

“It's alright, Daisy. If anything the scorch marks should add some much needed character to the place,” Varric said, carefully taking Bianca from his shoulder and throwing himself into a chair by the roaring fire.

No one piece of furniture in the room matched any of the others, a fact much bemoaned by Hawke’s mother. But he liked the ragtag collection of patchy, comfortable chairs around the marked and stained low wooden table in the centre of the room on which waited a deck of cards and an equally ragtag collection of mugs and tankards. Anders liked to think the overall effect of the room reminded him of his mismatched group of friends.

The man himself was nowhere to be seen as of yet. Anders had let himself in through the underground entrance near his clinic, the quickest and safest way he could get into the  Amell estate. Fenris had already been there, offering Anders a curt nod by way of greeting. Bodahn welcomed Merrill moments later, then Varric had appeared.

Hawke was no doubt off examining the extent of the damages to the Hanged Man and offering to pay for them, just like he'd immediately invited Isabela and Varric into his - their - home until repairs could be made.

He was like that.

Speaking of the Hanged Man…

“If it makes you feel any better, when I was still in the Circle I once accidentally froze half the apprentice’s quarters,” Anders recalled with a fond smile, sitting in the high backed armchair that was Hawke’s favourite after a moment of hesitation. “Everyone was sliding all over the place, the guards especially. I was not the most popular little mage for a very long time.”

“You're not even the most popular little mage in this room,” Varric laughed.

“Oh,” Merrill said brightly, ignoring Varric as she perched on a footstool. “Did you ever burn an inn to the ground?”

“You didn't... burn it _all_ to the ground, that's what matters. It didn't help that _some_ one was egging you on.”

“I was doing nothing of the sort,” Fenris said, affronted.

“Well, I was actually talking about Varric, but if the boot fits…” Anders trailed off, spreading his fingers with a smile.

“To be fair, Varric had me thinking about fireballs, but you were the one crumbling that vile pepper,” Merrill said, rubbing her nose at the phantom itch of the memory. “By the dread wolf, that was strong.”

Fenris rolled his eyes in that ‘those pesky mages are ganging up on me again’ way of his and slung himself across the nearest armchair, legs over the arm, detaching his sword belt and leaning it against the chair.

“Moral of the story, some contraband is contraband for a reason. Even if that reason _is_ remarkably volatile mage sneezes,” Hawke said, breezing in through the door with Isabela trailing behind him, a slightly scorched bag slung over one shoulder.

Isabela blew them all kisses and slipped away to her temporary room to deposit her belongings before returning, but Anders barely noticed. He had eyes only for Hawke. Always.

“We're off the hook, by the way. The Hanged Man should be up to its usual swill-selling standards in no time,” Hawke clapped Varric and Fenris on the back as he passed, ruffled Merrill’s hair. “Though I'm not entirely sure that's something to celebrate.”

Then he looked to Anders and a scowl slid over his face, even as the laughter in his eyes belied the expression. Anders was distantly aware of Isabela returning and causing a commotion by placing herself firmly in Fenris’ lap, which he loudly protested.

Hawke, meanwhile, reached Anders and leaned forward until their faces were a breath apart, arms braced either side of Anders’ head. Anders’ fingers tightened on the arms of the chair. He lifted his chin defiantly, eyes locked on Hawke’s. Hawke grinned at the movement.

“You,” he said, voice low and laced with warning. “Are in my chair.” His eyes travelled down to Anders’ lips and back as he spoke.

“And what exactly do you intend to do about it?” Anders was proud of how level he managed to keep his voice. It definitely didn't reflect how he was feeling, and he and Hawke both knew it, but he was proud nonetheless.

Hawke raised his eyebrows, and in a flash Anders was lifted up into the air, spun around and deposited right back where he'd started, only now Hawke’s lap was between him and the seat.

It was almost annoying how much physically stronger his lover was than him, except it really, really wasn't. And he definitely wasn't going to complain.

“Garrett,” Anders felt his face heating up as Hawke wrapped his arms securely around his waist and pulled him back until he was snugly pressed against his chest. He twisted until he could see the other man, who responded by pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Anders,” he replied just as quietly. Anders felt his heart do something ridiculously cliché in his chest. It had been three years since that voice had entered his life, some months since he'd admitted his feelings were returned, and yet even hearing Hawke speak his name was still enough to stir something in him.

“You'd think he would've learned by now that Hawke always sits in that chair,” Merrill said.

“You would, wouldn't you?” Isabela’s words glittered with mirth as she nudged Merrill with the toe of one boot.

“And you would think that Isabela would have realised by now that _I_ myself am _not_ a seat,” Fenris said, but Anders noted he made no actual effort to remove her.

“And here I was thinking this chair just had the most beautiful upholstery. That, and a nicely sized-”

“Hey! Not in front of Bianca,” Varric said, holding his hands over the crossbow as though covering its ears. Anders felt Hawke's laugh just as much as he heard it. “For want of a less carnal subject, Hawke; your brother gonna join us, or will we just start?”

Hawke grimaced, hooking his chin over Anders’ shoulder. “Kindly never mention Carver and… that in the same sentence ever again, Varric. But yes, he will be here shortly. I think he was intending to look into that little scheme he'd uncovered after his duties.”

“Those templar nuts still after you and Blondie?” Varric reached over Bianca to pour himself a drink.

“He asks, as if they ever weren't,” Anders muttered. He frowned as he felt an uncomfortable edge press against his thigh, squirmed, and reached down. Hand slipping between the fold of Hawke's robes and his trousers, he felt him tense beneath him, heard the hiss of his name.

He removed Hawke’s thigh holster and presented it to him with a reproachful look, ornate dagger and all. Hawke may have been a mage, but he still carried a small arsenal of blades on his person at all times. After all, he reasoned, they didn't put you in the Circle for stabbing a guy.

Hawke sheepishly took the dagger and tossed it onto the table, catching Anders’ hand before he could pull it away and brushing his lips against his knuckles in silent apology.

“Hands above deck please, boys,” Varric warned, but his eyes had the glint of mischief that meant he was storing away information for future reference. Anders only hoped it wasn't another one of his trashy romance novels. _Is that a dagger in your holster, or are you just happy to see me?_

He tried not to cringe, and also not to think about it.

“...yes. As I was about to say, they are. The templars. After us, I mean. And Carver leaked them our location, so-”

“You what?” Isabela’s eyes narrowed. Fenris sat upright, nearly knocking Isabela to the ground. Merrill hugged her knees, and Varric’s grip tightened on Bianca. Anders spun around, his mouth open, dread creeping fast through his veins. It was only Hawke’s hand on his waist that kept him in place.

Hawke raised a hand, using the other to rub Anders’ side soothingly. “It's a small group of young upstarts, acting alone. We either scare them off for good, or put them down for good. We can handle it.”

“Excuse me,” Anders said quietly, pushing away Hawke's hand and getting to his feet. He ignored the call of his name and moved swiftly from the room, snagging his staff as he passed for want of something to do with his hands. Walking through passages and up stairs, he eventually came to a halt in Hawke's - his - _their_ bedroom.

Templars. Why would that _ever_ be a good idea. Hawke knew, he _knew_ what Anders had been through. Stumbling across them and having to fight their way out was one thing, but _leading them straight to their home?_ This was the one place that had been starting to feel safe to him. The one place in all of Kirkwall.

It was decisions like these that reminded Anders that Hawke had always been an apostate. He didn't know the terror of escaping a Circle only to be dragged back, the fear you never could shake off. His vision pulsed for a second and he realised he was pacing. _Templars..._

 _Justice, no._ He pushed his hands to his face as though trying to force the light back in. Desperately, he tried to soothe his emotions. He could only keep Justice down if the task was his sole focus, and he needed to be himself right now. He took a deep breath. Released it. His hands were shaking, gripped so tight around the staff that his knuckles were ghostly white.

Threads of frost slowly began to snake down the grain of the wood as he tried to release some excess energy, hoping that would help keep Justice at bay. He was so intent on controlling the cold that he didn't hear Hawke entering the room until he said his name.

“Don't,” Anders said through gritted teeth. He didn't turn around, he hated when Hawke saw him like this. Losing control.

Hawke must have heard the change in his voice, because he approached him in a wide circle rather than directly from behind. Anders jerked his head up inadvertently - _Justice -_ and saw the lyrium blue glow of the spirit flickering against Hawke's face.

 _Do not be afraid. Withdraw. I can take care of this for you,_ was the offer he extended.

“Anders, look at me,” was the soft counteroffer. Hawke gently pried the staff from his hands, oblivious to the frost he still emitted as only a mage could be, and wrapped his fingers around his wrists.

It would have been so easy to fall, draw back and let Justice have his way. But then, other mages probably felt the same way about demons. He was no abomination, no matter what Fenris said. This was an agreement, and Justice would keep his end of it.

Anders clenched his fists _\- his,_ still his - and screwed his eyes shut, bidding Justice to go back down to where he lay dormant whenever he wasn’t needed. It took a moment, but he felt the spirit receding, still lashing out with tendrils of sinister intent and taking all the warmth in Anders’ body with him.

He swayed on his feet. Hawke held him steady.

“Still with me, Anders?”

He opened his eyes so he wouldn't have to answer. One look at the dark golden irises was enough to do it. Justice was gone, for now, and all of Anders’ fight had gone with him.

Hawke reached up and placed a hand to Anders’ face, fingers resting on the back of his neck, Anders letting him after an initial flinch. He stroked his thumb along his cheekbone, eyes flooded with worry. Anders tried to stop his body from shaking.

“I'm sorry,” Hawke said. Anders opened his mouth to speak, but Hawke shifted his hand to lay a finger across his lips. “I am really, truly sorry. I should have come to you before making the decision. It's no excuse, but I'm so used to making snap decisions on my own, and Carver and I work without thinking and I made assumptions and just… messed up. Badly. I'm so sorry.”

Anders shook his head, taking Hawke's hand in his and linking their fingers together before pressing them to his cheek. “Templars, Garrett,” was all he could say.

“I know. I _know,_ and I can't believe I didn't-,” he made a frustrated noise. “They're acting alone. They won't pass this location on to anyone else, they want all the glory for themselves. So when we - all of us - give them what's coming to them, nobody in the order will have that intel any more. Anders, I swear, I would never compromise your safety, especially not when it comes to them. I wouldn't have given Carver the all clear if I thought anything could go wrong.”

Maker, Anders was tired. Very, very tired. What Hawke was saying made sense. But that didn't change the horror that had filled him when he found out the templars could be coming for him and the only person that had made life worth coming back to, any second. It was always a possibility in Kirkwall, of course; the place was crawling with templars. He’d known that before he’d come here, but it made Justice so very aggressive.

He stepped forward and let his head drop to Hawke’s shoulder, feeling one hand cradle the back of his head and another pull him closer. “When is this happening,” he asked, emotionless.

“Carver says tonight. He got back just before I came up, which is the only reason I took so long to get here.” Hawke didn't speak for a moment. “You… you don't have to stay for this. I shouldn't have sprung this on you like that, it wasn't fair.”

Anders jerked his head back and narrowed his eyes. “You fight, I fight,” he said. He was a healer by nature, but the only thing worse than fighting and killing was knowing that Hawke was somewhere fighting and killing without a skilled healer at his disposal. Without him.

Hawke searched his face for confirmation, and Anders gave it. He leaned forward and gently pressed a kiss to his mouth, feeling Justice rumbling faintly in his core. He wasn't exactly a fan of all this, but Hawke was the one thing Anders wanted for himself, so he accepted it.

Besides, even if he was possessed by a whole horde of angry spirits Anders wouldn't have let them get between him and Hawke.

“Let's go back down, the others were hoping to get at least one game in before we have to bloody the place,” Hawke paused to retrieve Anders’ staff from where he'd discarded it to calm him. “Maker, mother will not be pleased with me when she returns.”

Anders took back his weapon with a sigh, but he took Hawke's hand and pressed it reassuringly when his expression clouded.

“We'll talk more. Later.”

Hawke nodded, and together they exited the room.

***

“Aveline has a patrol, but she’s tweaked the route so that it comes by here. If there’s too much trouble, she’ll be close enough at hand,” Hawke’s brother said, giving Anders a cursory nod in greeting. Which was, in all honesty, a massive improvement from before. Even if Justice did loathe Carver for the way he spoke about mages and templars, Anders could put up with him for Hawke’s sake. He was under the impression that the feeling was mutual.

When it had come down to it, though, he had chosen to join the city guard rather than the templars. So at least there was that.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” said Hawke. He returned to his chair, and after a moment’s hesitation Anders followed him. He propped his staff against the back of the chair alongside Hawke’s. A quick scan of his surroundings confirmed what he had expected; everyone had moved their weapons closer to hand while he’d been out of the room.

He didn’t get the chance to second guess where to sit, as a gentle hand was tugging at the back of his robes and he couldn’t quite summon up the energy to forgo his favourite seat. Settling down he was rewarded by Hawke softly kneading his knuckles down the ridges of his spine, an approximation of a massage that was as much of a public display of affection as Anders was comfortable with near the others… for now, at least. And Hawke knew it.

“Necessary precautions,” Carver shrugged, oblivious.

“Are precautions really all that necessary if the guys planning this whole operation didn’t have the brains to discuss their conspiracy in indoor voices?” Varric smirked, shuffling a deck of cards in an entirely over the top manner as Merrill watched in awe. “Perhaps somewhere that _wasn’t_ an inn?”

“It wasn’t an-,” Carver stopped suddenly, his face turning red.

“Oh?” Varric paused in his shuffling, sensing an opportunity. “Where was it then, Junior?”

“Yeah, Junior,” Hawke said, grin creeping across his face. “Where was it? Where, more to the point, were _you_?”

“The trick is not to blush, sweetie,” said Isabela mildly. She’d finished invading Fenris’ personal space - for the time being - and was now nosing through the papers on Hawke’s writing desk. Anders spared a moment to hope there was nothing too personal on there. “And for the record, he was at the Rose.”

“The _Rose_ ,” Hawke said, gleeful.

Carver groaned, his face in his hands. “See if I ever trust you again, Bela.”

“They would have found out eventually, I just spared you the excess suffering. Think of it as ripping off a sticky bandage rather than easing it off slowly,” Isabela smiled. “Not that there’s anything wrong with you being at the Blooming Rose, mind. It’s a very classy establishment, and you’re a growing boy. With needs.”

“Isabela,” the brothers’ voices were identical in their scandalised chastisement, and Anders couldn’t help but bark out a laugh alongside the others despite himself. Hawke flicked his back reproachfully.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I actually prefered when we were talking about the templars,” Anders said with a slight smile. Or grimace. He hadn’t decided.

“What are we playing?” Varric asked the room at large, much to the relief of Anders and Carver. The relief somewhat vanished on Anders’ part as soon as they decided on a game that he had never heard of, and was pretty sure Fenris and Isabela were making up on the spot.

 _But you can't have everything,_ he supposed. _And hey, the templars will be along to break up the tedium before we know it!_

He made a mental note for Justice to remind him to be careful what he wished for. Somewhere in his mind, the spirit snickered.

***

“Just this once, can we not play Snap instead?” Anders muttered to himself. “I excel at Snap. I have catlike reflexes and an uncanny ability to recognise matching cards in a very short length of time. All fear my snappy powers.”

“I'll play Snap!” Merrill looked up eagerly.

“Not now, kitten,” Isabela said. “We're already mid-game, Anders is just being sulky.”

“Go for those three,” Hawke said quietly, tapping cards as he spoke.

“Cheat,” Anders said, but gladly did as he was told. He still had no idea what he was doing.

“It's not cheating if I can already see your entire hand, sweetheart,” Hawke chuckled. True enough, Anders was making no effort to hide it from him - or, well, anyone for that matter - whereas Hawke made sure to hold his just beside Anders’ shoulder so he couldn't see.

An exercise in futility, considering. But that was Hawke. He liked to win.

There was an air of unease in the room, nobody quite giving their full attention to the game. Fenris hadn't spoken for some time, Anders was sure he was straining to hear for any telltale scrapes of armour on stone, swords being drawn, anything that would give them a heads up. Which wasn't going to be easy, given Varric and Hawke's favoured pastime of mercilessly grilling each other and everyone else in the room, much aided by Isabela.

Merrill was full of nervous energy, eyes wide and thoughtful. Between turns she got to her feet, paced around the table, sometimes left the room altogether. At one point, she returned from the entrance hall muffling a giggle. Anders raised an eyebrow at her, but she just smiled and went back to loudly asking what the cards in her hand meant and what she should do with them.

Carver caught a yawn in his hand. He had been on duty all day, he and Anders the only ones who never really got a day off between Hawke and their own responsibilities. The only difference was Anders’ inability to even acknowledge his exhaustion with the threat of the templars looming over him.

He almost began to envy the people _they_ ambushed. At least they didn't know Hawke and his notorious band of fighters were coming for them. They didn't have to sit there waiting for it, flinching at every sudden noise or change in the air.

Anders’ attention was suddenly snagged by a slight trickle of magic in the room. He frowned. It wasn't coming from Hawke, it had to be Merrill. He looked up, and she was watching him. She blinked at him, then looked away again. What _was_ she doing?

He didn't have to wait long to find out.

***

Fenris was the first to react. One moment he was berating Varric for various dubious life choices and the next his head had snapped around. He dropped his sentence like a hot coal and leapt to his feet, sword materialising in his hands like he'd never put it down.

His warning shout was drowned out by a series of loud crashes and aggravated curses in the next room.

“Oh, it worked!” Merrill beamed. The light around her hands danced from turquoise to jade and back again.

“Merrill?” Anders said, voice slipping a little higher as Hawke unceremoniously pitched him off his lap and made a grab for his staff.

The other were already through the door, cards scattered everywhere, Anders and Merrill on their heels, when Varric started laughing.

“You mentioned the accident in the apprentice quarters earlier and I thought…” Merrill shrugged as she took in the scene with a smile.

The templars, to their credit, had done everything right. Their armor and weapons bore enchantments to ward off magic, nobody - even Fenris - had heard them enter, there were a large enough number of them that even with the expertise of his friends, Anders thought it would have been a struggle to fend them off.

What they wouldn't have taken into consideration was the fact that Merrill had slicked the floor of the entire entrance hall over with black ice.

Anders had never been so proud.

Even now the templars were struggling to their feet on the ice. With a mischievous, wicked grin, Hawke dealt a force blow right in their midst and they all toppled like dominos again. Varric and Isabela were bent double laughing, and even Carver cracked a smile.

Then a templar notched an arrow and loosed it right at Hawke's throat, Hawke barely managing to sidestep to see it embedded in the doorframe rather than his neck. It left a trickle of blood against the skin and Hawke touched it with a frown before Anders could compose himself and trickle out the energy to heal it.

“And to think,” Hawke's voice was low and sinister, the air crackling with tension. “That I was thinking of letting you all leave with your lives and nothing but a warning. A pity.”

His words were given a sickening finality when Anders unleashed a series of fireballs into the midst of the armored intruders. That alone was enough to melt the ice - screams filling the air as they burned in their armour - and gave enough purchase for the inevitable slaughter that unfolded.

The power of magic may have been lessened by the templars’ precautions, but still the battle was over in what felt like a matter of moments. Blades, bolts, fire and ice and metal clashed and bit into skin and silenced cries, and when Anders finally stilled he was standing over a body, chest heaving, balls of fire still crackling in his hands, flames dancing along his staff where he held it.

He tasted metal, extinguished the fire and was suddenly hit by exhaustion as he raised a hand to his face. A twinge, and his hand came away bloodied. _Great, another broken nose._ Just what his face needed. He scowled, allowed a quick burst of healing energy into his face and turned to check on his friends.

He immediately went to Varric, nearest him, and healed a gash on his arm. Isabela was fine, twirling daggers in a lazy way and watching the blood spray off before cleaning them. Merrill had hung back - as Anders normally did - and was bouncing happily, looking over the bodies for loot with Fenris who begrudgingly stopped and allowed Anders to see to a cut on his side and a bruised rib.

Last he came to the Hawke brothers. He had been forbidden by Hawke to come to him first unless he required urgent attention (“ _you worry too much over me, the others need you too_ ”), but this time there was nothing to heal bar the small mark the arrow had left on its way to the door.

Carver, too, was relatively unscathed, and the two of them were squabbling over who had to tell their mother what had happened and who had to clean it up. Anders felt the ghost of a smile appear. He looked after the injuries, Hawke looked after the cleanup. Together they made a good team. Combined with their friends, they were nigh unstoppable.

He almost felt foolish to consider how he'd felt earlier, so gripped with fear at even the mention of templars that he failed to take into consideration their combined might and ability. But he knew better. Maker, he wished he didn't, but one day they were going to come again. With higher numbers and more expertise, and they would have no warning, or their friends wouldn't be around. If it wasn't here it would be on the road, in a cave, in some alley, in another estate elsewhere. If it wasn't the templars it would be another group, mercenaries or slavers or bandits or guards.

They were apostates, the most notorious in the city, for reasons ill or good, false or true, and they had no intentions of laying low or ceasing their work, trying to make the city a place worth living in.

Watching Hawke’s easy grin, his friends’ sincere laughter and breezy conversation over slowly cooling bodies, Anders was almost able to forget about it.

No, not forget about it. There was so much to do, and his fear, his _worry_ meant they weren't going to be caught unawares. Justice pulsed to remind him of his presence. Between them, everything that needed to be taken seriously would be. _Necessary precautions,_ like Carver had said.

But for the moment, he could just be there with his lover and the family he'd collected.

He approached Hawke and pressed a gentle hand to his neck, the touch lingering long after the cut had been replaced with smooth skin.

“Cutting it a bit close, Garrett,” he murmured.

“I've got you to patch me up, haven't I?” Hawke said, eyes half-closed, leaning into the touch.

Usually Anders would say something witty but sincere about prevention being better than cure, _always_. But not today.

“If you want me to touch you, all you have to do is ask nicely,” he said dryly.

“I know,” Hawke grinned, but it faltered when he raised a hand to Anders’ face. “And what about you? This your blood?” His fingers hovered over his bloodied nose and Anders winced. “Since when do you get right into the middle of things?”

“Since templars invaded our home, apparently,” Anders shrugged, then realised what he'd said.

Hawke's eyes lit up. “Our home,” he said, as though agreeing with something that had gone unsaid. He pressed a kiss to Anders’ forehead - sweaty, but at least not bloody - and squeezed his hand before stepping back. “Come on, let's do something about the mess in here, then we can clean you up.”

Anders lifted his head. “Carver got mother duty?” he asked, noting the absence of the guard.

“Carver got mother duty,” Hawke confirmed. “Now let's get all these guys to the cellar before the blood starts seeping out the armour, then we can see about disposal. Mother would never forgive us if we stained the floors in here.”

“How does she feel about scorches?” Anders said, scuffing the toe of his boot against a sooty mark on the floor.

“I guess we'll have to find out,” Hawke grinned, stooping to grab a templar’s legs. Anders had never known a mage to grin with such frequency or such genuine feeling.

“I guess we will,” he responded, gripping the templar's arms and taking in the scene once more. “I guess we will.”

***

**Author's Note:**

> As always I have no idea how to tag this. Also, yay, first fic in a new fandom. That's... new.  
> Yes, the title is meant to sound like a Friends episode. Maybe I'll go somewhere with that and add more to this storyline. Maybe not.  
> On tumblr @ [cityelf](http://cityelf.tumblr.com).  
> Give me a shout if you notice any mistakes.


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